Barn
by Mad Server
Summary: E/O Challenge. The boys check out a barn. Happy belated birthday, CatBeist!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Barn  
Author: Mad Server  
Rating: T  
Characters: Dean, Sam  
Word Count: 100, on the nose  
Summary: The boys check out a barn.  
A/N: Happy belated birthday, CatBeist! E/O Challenge, prompt word: "fade."  
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.

* * *

If Sam had known, he'd never have checked them in. They're here to lick their wounds, not to work.

* * *

"Sweet," says Dean, when Sam tells him. He's pale and run down. "Let's check it out."

* * *

The barn behind the motel is charred inside, but that doesn't mean the stories are true.

* * *

There are screams in the night. The boys sprint through wet grass in bare feet.

* * *

Inside, it's flame-bright. Sam's thrown against a wall. Dean's sneezing too hard to aim his gun.

"We're good listeners," Sam tries.

* * *

The motel shrinks in the rearview mirror. Dean fades, asleep before it vanishes.

* * *

end


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Barn (Extended Remix)  
Author: Mad Server  
Rating: T  
Characters: Sam, Dean  
Word Count: 600, on the nose  
Summary: The boys are coming off a hunt... and stumble into another.  
A/N: Lia, this is for you. Happy birthday!  
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.

* * *

If Sam had known, he'd never have checked them in. They're here to lick their wounds, not to work.

Just look at the week they've had. In Indiana, a woman clubs her husband to death, then irons his face off. The neighbors' children strangle each other with a garden hose. The stinky sulfur trail brings Sam and Dean face to face with five bored demons, all itching to prove themselves in a fight with the legendary Winchester boys.

Bruised ribs and a long slice up the arm for Sam. A concussion and a sprained elbow for Dean. And now, this.

* * *

"Sweet," says Dean, when Sam tells him what he's just heard from the day receptionist, and if there was ever any doubt that Dean's been avoiding sleep since hell, it's now officially gone. He's pale and run down, half dozing under his jacket on the bed at two-thirty in the afternoon. He shifts further up the headboard, the movement dislodging a gravelly cough. His bad arm's braced in a faded beige sling rigged from the sheets at the last motel. He pushes his good hand across his chest, catches his breath. He looks genuinely, pathetically grateful. "Let's check it out."

* * *

The trek across the field is slow.

"Think it was demons?" Dean's searching his pockets, sniffling.

"Or some angry ghosts... or else kids just screwing around." Sam watches him, picks absently at his own bandage. The day's sweaty-warm, but overcast.

"What else do we know can possess a person and make them light stuff on fire?" Dean comes up empty, ducks and blows his nose on the front of his T-shirt.

"Uh." Sam frowns, tries to drive the image out of his head. "Nothing."

The barn behind the motel is charred inside, but that doesn't mean the stories are true.

* * *

There are screams in the night, wafting thin across the field. Sam and Dean jerk awake.

"Son of a bitch," says Dean. He's so congested, it doesn't even sound like him.

Sam's on his feet too quickly and gasps, pressing into his ribs. Two careful breaths, then he throws on a light, casting anxiously for his shoes.

Dean grabs a gun, sneezes, staggers over to the window and just pushes through the screen, spills out into the night. Sam blinks, then follows.

The boys sprint through wet grass in bare feet. They're sore at first, but then the adrenaline hits.

* * *

Inside, it's flame-bright. Four motel guests are cowering in the centre of the room, their pajamas smeared with soot.

The doors swing shut behind Sam and Dean.

"We didn't mean to," quivers a woman in a pale blue tank top.

Sam's thrown against a wall. For awhile, there's nothing but the pain in his ribcage.

Then the smoke starts condensing, balling at the back of the barn into a vaguely human shape. Dean's sneezing too hard to aim his gun.

"We're good listeners," Sam tries, pinned like a rare moth. "Why this barn? Why these people? What do you want?"

* * *

He'd been murdered there, guts scattered everywhere. His blood was soaked into the wood. He couldn't rest. No wonder he wanted the barn gone, kept trying over the years.

"Just wanted to sleep," Dean yawns, and Sam isn't sure if he means himself or the ghost. Dean coughs harshly, then settles against the passenger door. "Wake me up when we hit Canton."

"Yeah." Sam flexes and fists his bad hand, then starts the ignition. The column of smoke behind them is grey against the blue morning sky.

The motel shrinks in the rearview mirror. Dean fades, asleep before it vanishes.

* * *

end


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